


can you hear me screaming (please don't leave me)

by pleasesupplymewithyourwahoos



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Don't worry, M/M, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It, ciri is a good child, just so much angst I'm sorry, let yennefer and jaskier be friends 2020, no beta we die like renfri, no one actually dies, not in my Christian Minecraft Server
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22676281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasesupplymewithyourwahoos/pseuds/pleasesupplymewithyourwahoos
Summary: “He’s-… what?” Geralt felt his heart leap into his throat, gods, why was it so hard to breathe? He couldn’t be, Jaskier was foolish, but he couldn’t be-“Stone-cold I'm afraid. killed by some villagers in Mayena, guess they were none too fond of witches.” She tossed a coin to the barkeep, before turning to head out of the bar. “What was he expecting? Keeping company with rebels.”Based on a Tumblr post:Jaskier befriends Yennefer and the sorcerers and accidently gets on Nilfgaard's most wanted list. He fakes his death and takes up the identity of the warrior-bard Dandelion. Geralt finds out in literally the worst way possible.Angst ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 45
Kudos: 490





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first time posting on this site, please be nice to my comments section

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> want some extra angst? here are some extra angsty geraskier songs to listen to while scrolling through the angst section of the tag:  
> \- Hold On - Chord Overstreet  
> \- Say Something - Great Big World  
> -The Horror and The Wild/ Marbles - The Amazing Devil  
> \- Stray Italian Greyhound - Vienna Teng  
> \- In Case You Don't Live Forever - Ben Platt  
> \- Little Miss Why So - The Amazing Devil  
> -Not Yet/ Love Run - The Amazing Devil  
> -1950 - King Princess  
> \- Anything by Hozier Ever
> 
> I'm so (not) sorry

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my least favorite bard.”  
Jaskier all but threw his head onto the table. Truly the gods were teasing him at this point. Was it not bad enough to have been thrown aside by his companion of the last two decades? Was this really necessary?  
“Yennefer. Lovely as always.”  
“Hmm.” She had barely looked over him once, before scanning the tavern.  
“Where’s the boyfriend?”  
Oh gods, why was this so hard? Jaskier was sure he was going to burst into tears if anyone so much as mentions Ger- The White- The Witcher again. He was barely able to fight them back now, as it was.  
“Oh shit, bard, I’m- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean-” The sorceress took a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “I didn’t know.”  
“I assumed.”  
“Hurts, doesn’t it?”  
“Hmmm.”  
Yennefer sat down next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.  
“If it makes you feel better, he’s not worth your tears.”  
Jaskier chuckled into his ale.  
“He’s an arse isn’t he?”  
“Worst in the continent.”  
How had it happened that those who would’ve gladly thrown each other off cliffs only days ago, now felt a camaraderie beyond the ages? Strange times indeed.  
“So, what’s next?” Yennefer inquired, one would almost think she was sincerely curious. “Where shall I next hear the intrepid adventures of Jaskier the Bard?”  
“I-” He paused. What was next? Until now, he’d never had to imagine a life without Geralt, and now he found it near impossible. “I don’t know.”  
“You don’t say.” Yennefer took a long sip of her ale, “Well, I’m headed to Aretuza, last stand against Nilfgaard and all. Did you hear they plan to march on Cintra?”  
“Do they have a death wish?” Jaskier was astounded. He’d never been too keen on Queen Calanthe, but even he could recognize that she was a warrior beyond compare.  
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Yennefer’s face darkened, “They have Fringilla, an old friend of mine. I trust she’s up to no good.”  
“Well, I haven’t met her personally, but I pity anyone who tries to fight you. You may be a bit off the chain, but you’re a force to be reckoned with.”  
Yennefer laughed, and stood up.  
“This is where we part ways, bard.”  
She turned to leave, pausing briefly to take off a ring that she had been wearing. She held out Jaskier's hand, and placed it gently in it.  
“If you are ever in need, call me.”  
Jaskier bowed as dramatically as possible.  
“The same goes for you m’lady.”  
She smiled and sauntered out of the tavern, the ring in Jaskier’s hand the only proof that the encounter even happened.  
He almost forgot it did. He and Yennefer stayed in touch of course, met in person as well, But he had no doubts that she’d take care of herself. Until, 10 months later, he felt his fingers burn, with the pain of a thousand suns. The ring around his finger was glowing red hot, he woke a cold sweat, mind racing, head throbbing. A message blazing through his mind, at the speed of light, Jaskier practically ran out of the inn.  
Sodden. Fire. HELP.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
So.  
When Jaskier had ridden to Sodden this was certainly not what he had expected.  
What he’d expected had been an army trying to fight Yennefer, her putting up a brave final stand, him helping rescue civilians, y’know the usual.  
What he hadn’t expected was a barren field, a half-dead Yennefer and a sobbing witch. Turns out the witch, whose name Jaskier learned later was Tissaia had sent the message, hoping for some help. He spent the next 2 months helping the Aretuzan’s rebuild a base, and nursing Yennefer back to health (under Tissaia’s watchful eye of course).  
“You know they’ll come for you next right?” Yennefer had asked, only a week after regaining consciousness.  
“Worry about yourself first, Yen, then we’ll figure it out.”  
“I have been putting myself first for years, and look where it got me.”  
“With your very best friend in the world, a loving fiance and an army of mages who await your command?”  
She laughed at that. “You make it sound so glamorous. Perhaps it would’ve seemed so, to a younger me.”  
“Life’s what you make of it, my dear.” He said as he reapplied healing salve to her shoulder. “Make the most of what we have.”  
A month later they were attacked. Nilfgaard couldn’t seem to take a hint it seemed. Yennefer was still too weak to fight, so they fled, they had no choice.  
“Please!” They banged on the doors of every house in Mayena. “Please anyone, we need help!”  
“Psst, bard!”  
Jaskier whipped around, Yennefer still hanging limply off of his arm, clutching Tissaia’s sleeve for balance.  
“Bring her in here, we’ll get you some broth.”  
Jaskier blessed that dear old soul at least 200 hundred times in the next week. She gave them a safe space when they thought all was lost. But, every victory has it’s losses.  
“Every soldier is Nilfgaard will be on the lookout for Julian Alfred Pankratz now.” Tissaia paced the length of the cottage, “There has to be something we can-”  
“What if there was no Julian?”  
Yennefer turned to him in shock, face as pale as he had ever seen it.  
“You can’t possibly be implying-”  
“Oh no, not that, Yen,” He brushed her off, “What if ‘Julian Alfred Pankratz’ died a horrible death? I could change my name and grow out my hair, maybe add a beard?”  
“That’s-”  
“Not a bad idea, Yennefer.” Tissaia crossed the room, grabbing at Jaskier’s face. “A bit of magic here and there, it could work.”  
Yennefer still looked disbelieving but Jaskier tried his best to reassure her.  
“Nothing actually bad will happen, Yen, I’ll still be here.”  
She took a deep breath, shoulders sagging.  
“Do what you must. I couldn’t bear to lose you too.”  
And so Julian ‘Jaskier’ Pankratz was tragically murdered and the renegade bard Dandelion was born. It wasn’t a bad look per say, Tissaia and Yennefer certainly gave him a roguish charm of sorts, long hair, trimmed beard, lots of blue paint. To any human, he would be unrecognizable. And so life continued. The mages of Aretuza freed as many towns from Nilfgaard as they could, and Dandelion would sing their praises as they trudged through the corpses they left behind. Tales of his insanity spread through the continent. The bard who merrily sang and danced after ‘brutally murdering’ “””innocent”””” nilfgaardian soldiers. Dandelion was as feared by Nilfgaard (and as beloved by everyone else) as Yennefer, or Tissaia, or any of the mages. Not a bad way to go through life.  
And yet sometimes his mind wandered. He thought of a white-haired witcher, who last he’d heard had been rotting away in Cintra during its fall. He wondered if he made it out, whether he ever found his child surprise, whether he ever thought of his broken-hearted bard. 

“Dandelion! Quit dithering and help us with the fire!” Triss yelled jokingly from their campsite.  
Jaskier smiled, where ever the witcher was, he was someone else's problem now. He was doing just fine for himself here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooohooooo geralt pov angst let's go

Geralt hadn’t expected to ever despise silence. Yes, he had immediately regretted the way he treated his bard, but he didn’t think his absence would leave this big a hole in his life. Ciri had only just begun to heal it over, but he still yearned for his old companion.  
So when he walked into that tavern in Posada, he didn’t know what he was expecting. Had he really been so foolish as to think that Jaskier would just be waiting for him in there, same as the day he met him? Why did he feel so empty when he couldn’t find expectant blue eyes in the tavern?  
“Geralt?” He snapped back to reality, looking down at Ciri. The poor thing was still a bit jumpy around people, he should be more attentive. “Are you alright?”  
“I’m fine, little one.” He led her into the tavern, “Get us a table and I’ll get some food.”  
As he walked towards her, two full plates in hand, a pint of ale on it’s way, he heard a faint tune, almost familiar but not quite true.

  
_Her current is pulling you closer_   
_And charging the hot, humid night_   
_The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool_   
_Better stay out of sight_

  
This song… it couldn’t be.  
But it was. The love song Jaskier had been working on, before- before everything.

  
_I'm weak my love, and I am wanting_   
_If this is the path I must trudge_   
_I'll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance_   
_Garroter, jury, and judge_

  
Garroter... he couldn’t’ve? He wasn’t- was he? A million questions flew through Geralt’s mind. The song he remembered wasn’t so hopeless, it wasn’t so… lost. It wasn’t about-

  
_But the story is this_   
_She'll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss, o-oh_   
_But the story is this_   
_She'll destroy with her sweet kiss, o-o-o-o-oh_

  
Oh.  
“Jaskier.” He didn’t know, he couldn’t have known… But how couldn’t he? The bard had followed him for years, he took care of him, he spent his youth trying to help Geralt, gods he’d been a fool. If only he’d known, Jaskier, why didn’t you say anything?  
“Ciri, stay here.” He got up to move towards the bard who had just finished her song. Ciri reached for his hand, and he smiled at her reassuringly. “I’ll be back in a minute I promise.”  
He approached the bard as gently as he could, he knew not everyone was as forthcoming to a witcher as Jaskier was.  
“Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to know where the bard who wrote that song was headed?”  
The poor girl seemed taken aback, she stuttered and stammered through her words, as if trying to convey forbidden knowledge.  
“Oh, um Jaskier? Uh, well- uhm, you see he’s-”  
“Dead.” A stern looking lady, dressed in fine clothes, suddenly stood up and made her presence known. She took a once over of Geralt, before making her way to the exit.  
“He’s-… what?” Geralt felt his heart leap into his throat, gods, why was it so hard to breathe? He couldn’t be, Jaskier was foolish, but he couldn’t be-  
“Stone-cold I'm afraid. killed by some villagers in Mayena, guess they were none too fond of witches.” She tossed a coin to her witcher to the barkeep, before turning to head out of the bar. “What was he expecting? Keeping company with rebels.”  
It felt as if someone had dropped a mountain on top of Geralt at that moment. He couldn’t stop himself as he fell to the floor. What kind of cruel game was destiny playing with him now? How could he have let this-  
He wasn’t there to protect him, oh Melittle preserve his soul, he could’ve prevented all of this. Jaskier would’ve been safe, it should’ve been him, it should’ve been him, Jaskier, no it couldn’t be true, it should’ve been him, Jaskier, it shouldn’t have been him, it couldn’t-  
“Geralt? Geralt. Geralt? GERALT?” He snapped back to reality, realising Ciri was standing in front of him, shaking him gently. “Geralt are you alright? What’s wrong? Geralt?”  
He couldn’t stop himself, he reached out and pulled her into a tight hug. She seemed surprised for a second, but she leaned into it after a minute.  
“Geralt, what’s wrong?”  
He pulled back for a second to look at her face. Oh gods, she was just like him. So small, so vulnerable, he wouldn’t let the same thing happen to her, he swore, he couldn’t.  
I’ll be better, Jas. I promise, I can be better.  
He got up and pulled Ciri out of the tavern, hoisting her up onto Roach.  
“Geralt?” She turned to look back at him, as he git up behind her. “Where are we going?”  
“Somewhere we can be safe from the bad people. Somewhere where they can’t get to you.”  
He would have to be better. For Jaskier.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
It had been a month since he’d last since Cirilla. It hurt to leave her behind, but this was no life for a child. He still had to make a living. Maybe if Jas- his bard was here, she could’ve been with them, but he couldn’t take care of her alone. So he did what he had to.

_“Geralt, please don't go!” She’d grabbed onto his leg, as if she could prevent him from leaving._   
_“Don’t worry, princess.” He kissed her little hand, “It’s safer for you here, with Vesemir and the other witchers. I’ll write every day, I promise.”_   
_“Don’t leave me please.” She begged, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Promise me you’ll come back.”_   
_He almost decided to just stay in that, to just hug this poor scared child that he had grown to love so much, and to never let her go, to protect her forever._   
_Almost._   
_“Don’t force me to make promises I can’t keep.”_

He’d been wandering the continent for a while now, taking up jobs wherever he could. He never stayed in one place too long, he had no need to. No bard who sang to him while washing his hair, no one to keep him company while telling glorified tales of their travels to excitable townsfolk, no buttercup to curl up against him while he slept, as if his presence was a comfort, as if he cared for no one else in the world.  
Humans were much less welcoming as well now, he knew this would happen. He knew that the bard put people at ease around him. He just didn’t anticipate how much he would detest humanity without him.

_“We agreed on 50 pieces, where’s my money?” He had asked a particularly testy noble._   
_“We thought we’d have some entertainment while you were out.” The noble had responded, as if he couldn’t care less about Geralt._   
_“I did exactly what you asked, now give me what I’m owed, and I’ll be on my way.”_   
_“Perhaps you should’ve left the… um ‘human interaction’ to your bard. Bet you wish you hadn’t gotten rid of him now.” The noble turned to leave, but Geralt was taken aback. He reached for the nobles shoulder and twirled him around._   
_“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”_   
_“Well, I’m sure your intentions were, how to say, good of course. But you did kill your bard, did you not? Got tired of him I suppose, one only has so much use for a-”_   
_Geralt couldn’t stop himself. He saw red. Before he knew it, the noble’s body was lying limp on the floor, his blood splattered across his hands, his face. He heard shouts, he knew he didn’t have much time. He grabbed the money and left, slicing through any guards who stood in his way. And when he reached his camp, he wept. Because the noble was right. He didn’t mean to, but he had inadvertently caused Jaskier’s death. He could’ve kept him safe. Jaskier would’ve stopped him, he would’ve punched the noble across the jaw or something dumb and hot-headed, and Geralt would’ve dragged him out of the manor, and he’d just hold on to him until he’d calmed down, and he- he’d- he-_

“Excuse me? Witcher? You are a witcher, yes?”  
Geralt snapped back to reality to see a small girl with the pigtails in front of him.  
“Hmmm.” He found he couldn’t look her in the eyes, she looked too much like his own Ciri, oh gods Ciri, she would be disgusted by what he’d done-  
“We have a nest of drowners on our coast, my father said he’d pay you to get rid of them.”  
“Where do you need me?”  
“Mayena, just off Skellige.”  
It seemed destiny had finally given him an out. He could finally track down the monsters who’d dared to lay a finger on his bard, he could finally get justice.  
I suppose I’ll see you soon, Jask.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dang, I was not expecting y'all to like this story so much??? I love you???? this fandom is probably crazy but I love y'all????

2 months ago...

Life waits for no one, and as such, the traveling fellowship of rebellious sorcerers was always on the move. They moved from town to town, finding whatever food, coin, and shelter they could. They were always on the lookout for like-minded souls, to aid their cause, who were willing to stand up against Nilfgaard. So far, Posada has served its purpose. A couple of new recruits, a couple of Nilfgaardians to be disposed of. And for Dandelion, it seemed the old town welcomed him with open arms.

_“You think you’re safe_

_Without a care But here in Posada_

_You’d be wise to beware”_

He danced jovially around their campfire. This. This is what he’d been missing out on all those years with the-witcher-that-shalt-not-be-named. He’d only ever had Geralt, only ever cared for Geralt. Here he had the love and admiration of everyone he met. No strange glances, no ostracisation. Everyone here cheered for him, sang along. It was everything he’d ever wanted.

_“The pike with the spike_

_That lurks in your drawers_

_Or the flying drake_

_That will fill you with horror”_

It was everything he’d ever wanted, it had to be right? The adoration, the cheers, no more being cast out of towns, no more food being thrown. No more shit-shoveling… so why did it feel so-

_“Need Old Nan the Hag_

_To stir up a potion_

_So that your lady Might get an abor-_

_Tissaia!”_

It had been nearly 6 hours since the Rectoress had set out (they had started to get worried) but here she was now, prim and proper as ever, blithe smile set in stone. At least until she was knocked over by an overly excited (and very drunk) Yennefer, that is.

“Melittle’s sake, Yenna.” She tossed the giggling witch off of herself, as she stood up, trying to straighten herself up. “I was hardly gone for that long.”

“Missed you.” came the whiny response, from the still collapsed witch. “Plus you missed Dandy’s new song.”

“Told you to stop calling me that.” Jaskier made his way over, taking Tissaia’s bags from her, and helping Yennefer back to her feet.

“There’s a new one?”

“You wouldn’t like it-” Jaskier replied, hurriedly, only to be cut off by Yennefer. “It’s about how you slew that kikimora and liberated that village off Skellige.” Yennefer laid her head on top of Tissaia’s, steering her towards the campfire. “But we can discuss that later, how was your scouting?”

“Same as usual, y’know,” She reached for a piece of the lamb Triss had just finished preparing. “Few Nilfgaardians here and there, spoke to some of our people, oh, there was a soldier who asked about you though, Dandelion.”

Truth be told, Jaskier hadn't been paying much attention till then, but when he heard his name he snapped back to reality.

“A Nilfgaardian?”

“I’m assuming,” Tissaia said, as she took another swig of ale. “Strange guy, yellow eyes, white hair-”

“Two big swords, wore a strange medallion?” Jaskier cut her off, he could practically feel the blood leave his body, it couldn’t be-

“Yes, actually, that’s exactly it. Do you know this man?”

“Oh, Tiss, darling,” Yennefer suddenly seemed to sober up. “That was no man.”

“Geralt?” Triss inquired disbelievingly.

Jaskier couldn’t believe it. He should be feeling something, joy perhaps, anger? Instead, he just felt… empty.

“What-” Jaskier could feel his voice falling, “What did he want?”

“He was looking for you, asked one of the bards that was singing your songs where you were.” Tissaia was pacing the lawn, worriedly, “I assumed he was a Nilfgaard-”

“What. Did You. Tell Him?” Cold realization flooded Jaskier’s mind. No, no, no, Geralt- Tissaia couldn’t look him in the eyes. Yennefer's face went blank, her mind clearly racing to the same place as Jaskier’s.

“Oh, Geralt…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short update the last two chapters should be done soonish??? (i hope)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> was this chapter supposed to have an actual plot? yes probably. Am I lazy as hell? also yes

A month on the road and they were still no closer to finding the witcher than they had been that day in Posada. All they could gleam from villagers was that he never stayed in one place too long, he rarely socialised, and that he was back to his butchering ways.

“I hardly believe that Geralt of Rivia could-” Jaskier started, it couldn’t be his- Ger- The White Wolf, not the one who let bards braid flowers into his hair, the one who’d let a wyvern maul his shoulder to protect said bard and a group of local children, no, it couldn’t be, not his-

“I saw it with me own eyes, lad.” The villager cried, gesturing wildly, clearly still panicking. “E’ just shook ‘em until there was no air left in m’lord’s body, took his coin and slew the guards for good measure. Best be staying away from him, if you want to come back in one piece.”

And yet, everytime, every single time, Jaskier choked back his sobs and kept looking. Shouldn’t he be indifferent? The witcher had tossed him aside, what gave him the right to become so violent? That wasn’t Jaskier’s problem, and it certainly wasn’t Dandelion’s. But still, Jaskier felt the pull. The one that led him to the tavern in Posada, the one that showed him to the Djinn, the one that brought him to Yennefer. The one that pulled him away on the mountain. Jaskier had clearly underestimated his impact on the witcher. He knew that the great oaf held some affection for him, but after everything, after Yennefer, how could he- How could this kind man, who had spent years trying to be what Jaskier sang to the masses, who would protect the innocent (even the not-so-innocent), who freed the enslaved and liberated the poor, how could he have destroyed it all in a matter of weeks. 22 years of ballads, and rescues and questing, all gone for- for- For him.

“Dandy,” Yennefer called, “Dandelion? Dandelion! Jaskier! We have to stop, we have no food, I can’t keep portalling us across the continent on a whim-”

“We’re close, Yen,” He couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold it in anymore. He sobbed openly into the sorceresses arms, crying in despair. Yennefer, to her credit, uncomfortable as she seemed, held strong, stroking long lines down his back, whispering comforts into his hair. “We’re so close, we can’t- I can’t let him-”

“I know, Jas, I know,” He could feel her tears trickle onto his forehead and held her tighter. “I know, but we have to rest. You haven’t eaten in days, you look like a ghost.”

“To be fair, I am dead” Which earned him a sharp slap across the shoulder, but at least Yen was laughing again.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geralt stepped into the inn, and a hush fell over the patrons. A year ago, with his bard by his side, he didn't need to be bothered with this. And yet here he was.

“A room and a bath.” He grunted, dropping a small bag of coins on the table. The innkeeper chuckled and tossed it back to him. “Consider it my treat, least we can offer after-, well.”

“Hmmm.” “Nothing to be done of course, we didn’t know what hit ‘em until a few days after, found some limbs floating down the stream, found a ring on the arm, someone identified it, and well, the rest is history.” She turned to wipe down the counter, “Never thought-, oh well.”

Geralt’s ears shot up at this. He knew that tone, it was the tone of someone who knew too much. “Never thought, what?”

“Well-”

“Never thought her daughter would have it in her, ‘swhat she means.” A man rose from across the tavern and approached Geralt, clearly drunk, but the woman stiffened up at the comment.

“Virtue wouldn’t, I didn’t raise no killer.”

“Virtue?”

“Someone saw the bard and ‘is friends going into her house a few weeks before they found the body. No one had seen ‘em since. Who else could it’ve been, Agnes?”

“Quit your blathering, Anthony, don’t you have places to be? Hellions to tempt?”

The man groaned, but sautered away nonetheless. Geralt moved to leave the tavern, when he felt a hand holding him back.

“I don’t suppose I can stop you?” Geralt found he couldn’t look her in the eye. The woman’s gaze pierced straight through his chest, as if she knew his every move.

“Here.” She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small signet ring, hanging loosely off a thin thread.

“How did you-”

“Had a feeling you’d need it.” She said, smiling blithely, as if she knew of pains Geralt had yet to experience.

“Tell the bard I said hi.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had been heading towards Skellige, when Yennefer felt it, near collapsing in the process.

“Yenna?” Tissaia had shaken her for a good two minutes before Yennefer hard said anything near coherency.

“He’s here, where it all-” Jaskier felt a chill pass through his body, as if a long gone apparition had passed through his body.

“Geralt-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an agnes nutter/virtue device/ anthony crowley cameo in my witcher fic? it's more likely than you think


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tearful reunion is finally here because lockdown forced me to stop procrastinating!

“Mercy, please!”

Geralt couldn’t hear them, not over the ringing that was filling his head, enveloping the world in a dark fog. Nothing she said could matter. Not after what she did.

“Mercy?” A cold, listless laugh filled the air, was that what he sounded like? Perhaps, when he really wanted to scare someone…

“Did you show him any mercy?”

“Who are you talking about?” The woman cried, scrambling backward, shrieking when she hit the wall, nowhere left to run-

“Please, please, stop! I truly don’t know who you’re talking about-!”

“You can pretend, play innocent for now, but your sins will always catch up to you.” Geralt felt himself raising his sword, a cold hatred flowing through his veins as he delivered the final blow, the woman- murder screaming, high-pitched, raw with emotion, raising her arms, to shield herslef, in a futile attempt to-

“Geralt!” Geralt felt his blood run cold, for a moment he swore his heart stopped beating, that voice, it couldn’t be-

He let out a dry laugh again, he found himself unable to stop as he fell to the ground, a sharp pain shooting through his spine, shaking, as he felt the tears flood out his eyes.

“Yennefer! What did you do?”

“He was going to kill her! What was I supposed to do?”

“I- I- I don't know! Just help me, lift the illusion, please!”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the wild man’s hair shorten by at least 2 inches, curling slightly around his ears, his rags turning into a fine doublet, resembling that of the fairest nobility. The man crouched down next to him, holding his shoulders gently, whispering to him.

“Geralt? Geralt! Talk to me, please, are you-”

“You really think that wearing his skin will save you from my wrath? From vengeance, from justice?”

The man looked taken aback, before plastering on a smile, that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he spoke-

“Geralt, it’s me? Please, Geralt, it really is. Jaskier? Your bard?”

“.... notmybard….”

“Geralt?”

“YOU’RE NOT MY BARD!” He growled, baring his teeth, which should have sent the imposter back, recoiling. Instead, he held on, steadfast and strong.

“He’s- He’s GONE.”

“Geralt, that’s not-”

“Unless… the witch killed me, and this is my eternal punishment?”

Geralt’s mind was racing.

“Oh of course! The one thing that could bring me more pain, faced by my own mistakes! Well, then, I’m- I’m- I’m-”

He couldn’t help it, he broke down. He wept into the imposter’s arms, sobbing and mumbling, as he cried for his lost bard.

“I’m so sorry, Jask, I never should’ve let you leave, I didn’t know, I swear! I didn’t know-”

The imposter bard shushed him gently, cradling him in his arms, running his fingers through his hair.

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have left, I should’ve waited, Geralt don’t-”

“It’s my fault! It’s my fault you’re- ... gone…”

The imposter bard just hugged him tighter, letting his face fall into his shoulder, whispering softly into his-

He was singing. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t-

He couldn’t know.

-

_The bard was sitting by the fire, leaning onto a nearby stump, strumming his lute. He softly began to sing, his eyes never leaving Geralt, as he sat down and began to layout their bed-roll._

_“I’ve held your hand since 1229,_

_You were in a band - still am - yeah but back then you had hair and your smile was so sublime,_

_And I chipped my teeth on every joke you cracked”_

_Geralt let out a low sigh, and walked over to sit by Jaskier’s side. He let himself collapse onto the bard’s side, his head falling into place on the bard’s shoulder._

_They had spent the last few nights like this. Curled up into each other, a tangle of limbs and a single blanket. It was comforting for them both, he thought, being so close to one another._

_He supposed this is what it must be like. Home._

_“What’s this song even about? There’s no monsters?”_

_The bard let out a low chuckle. “Bold of you to assume every song I write is about you, Geralt. I hadn’t thought you were this conceited.”_

_“So it’s not about me?”_

_“.... It is, but that’s beside the point-”_

_He cut off the bard with a long laugh, the bard couldn’t help it and soon they were both giggling into the night._

_“How are you going to sing this in a pub? It’s hardly going to get us any coin.”_

_“Not every song has to be performed for the masses, I keep some of my songs just for you and me, you know.”_

_The witcher would never admit how much the idea of the bard singing for him and him alone filled his chest with an odd warmth._

_“So this song can be just for us, lark?”_

_“Hmmm.” The bard hummed, making himself comfortable leaning against the witcher’s chest._

_“That’s my line.”_

_Now that got a real laugh from the bard. They sat in silence for a while, before the bard began to strum again, singing well into the night, until they both drifted off into a land of dreams and deep rest.._

_“You used to buy me scotch - still do -_

_yeah but now too much is never enough_

_To take me back to that dance hall where you got thrown out cos they thought you were drunk_

_-I wasn't,_

_You couldn’t lie then-”_

-

“-And you sure as hell can’t lie to me now” The witcher seemed to snap out of a dream. He was really here. His bard. Singing. Into his hair. The same hair he was caressing, the same way he had for the last twenty years-

“You stole the best years of my life-” The bard continued.

“I’ll give them back.” The witcher felt his voice come back, as he looked at the bard. Jaskier’s eyes grew wide and started to fill with tears as a small, genuine, smile made its way onto his face.

“You got fat-”

“And you’re the thigh-high hemline I just can’t stop staring at-”

Geralt sang along, as he let his forehead rest against the bard’s, they sang together.

“Cause I will wait and hope Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep But a place for crows to rest their feet And I will wait and hope And rest my head at night content Knowing where my marbles went…” The bard laughed and wrapped the witcher in another bear hug, knocking him back, as he wept into his chest.

“Geralt!”

“Jaskier… you’re here.”

The bard beamed at him, tears trailing down his face, looking as radiant as the first time they met.

“Of course, I’m here! I couldn’t just leave you, who knows what kind of trouble you’d get into without me.”

Stifling his sobs, Geralt clung to his bard, and in that moment he knew, he’d never let go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! I was considering writing an epilogue but on second thought I'd rather just leave it open-ended. What do y'all think?


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